one without laughter
by TheDevilYouDon't
Summary: "Scranton has not changed in the slightest, the only difference being the people from Stamford, your return, and the absence of a ring on Pam's left ring finger." Jim/Pam. Spoilers through Season 3.


**A/N: Okay, I know that it's been a while since I've written anything, but I've been down with a bad case of writer's block. I needed to write through it so I went to one of my trusty couples—Jim and Pam. It's been a long time since I've written Jam, so I hope this is okay.**

_**It starts just after Casino Night and there are spoilers through season 3.**_

**Also, Jim talks to his sister Larisa (yes, that's spelled correctly) in this and, because we don't really know anything about it, I made her about four years younger than him. He lists her as his emergency contact in 2x06, so I figured she has to live in Scranton. And, yeah, I know that a lot of people previously believed her to be his mother, but I checked. It's his sister.**

**That's all, folks. Read away.**

_**.**_

_**one without laughter**_

_**.**_

_i. how strange when an illusion dies_

_._

_There's glass buried in your lungs. The shards slice and cut and you bleed with each breath, so you consider not breathing at all. _

_You don't think about anything other than the hole inside of your chest. You don't remember the moment that part of you disappeared, but you think it doesn't matter because it's gone either way. _

_You make it out to your car and then you just drive because you can't sit there in the parking lot. You can't even look out the window as you leave it behind, and your eyes carefully avoid the mirrors._

_It takes a while for you to cry, which surprises you at first, because you'd been so close to losing it before. When the tears start, you carefully pull over to the side of the road and put on your hazards before you lean your head against the steering wheel and let go._

_It takes a while to empty yourself, not just of tears, but of everything._

_._

_ii.__the constant traveler saying 'anywhere but here'._

.

Mark helps you pack up your things and hugs you before you get in your car. He knows something is wrong, but he hasn't asked you. He's just been there for you over the past three days. You wave good-bye to him and promise to keep in touch and visit, even though you think it may be a lie.

You're so tired.

It takes you a while, but you finally make it to Stamford and the apartment you'd found as quickly as you could. The landlord left the keys under the welcome mat in front of the door and you unload as little as possible before inflating an air mattress and collapsing on it for the next day and a half.

On your first day of work, you get ignored by everyone but your nearby desk mates. Andy, the guy who sits in front of you, grills you for hours over what it was like in Scranton, which is the absolute last thing you want to talk about. The girl at the desk behind you asks if you want to go to lunch after Andy makes a joke about your sandwich, and you quickly agree, if only to get out of there.

She takes you to Subway and you awkwardly place your orders and then stand side-by-side and wait in silence. You barely talk while you eat, except for her to introduce herself—"Karen," she says, and you smile and nod just before she asks how you like it here so far.

You shrug in answer.

"Do you talk at all, Jim Halpert?" there's humor in her tone and a smile on her face, so you take the question with a grain of salt.

You nod in answer and the laugh she lets out is pleasant.

You don't hurt as much that night, and you feel guilty because of it. You toss and turn all night and try to get a hold of yourself, despite the fact that this is something you've never actually been successful at.

Eventually, you fall asleep to thoughts of curly hair and muffled laughter. When you wake up, the glass in your lungs doesn't hurt as much.

You're not sure if this is positive or not—on one hand, you're getting better; on the other, you're not sure you want to.

...

_iii. dismiss that which insults your soul_

.

You don't go to Australia. Instead, you spend the days you requested off work lying on your new couch and watching movie after movie. A lot of them are your favorites, but it doesn't matter because your mind isn't even on them anyway.

You're too nauseated to eat on June 10th, so you play the Beatles vinyl your sister bought you for Christmas and stare at the bare walls of your bedroom. At 5 o'clock, you almost call Dwight or Michael or anyone to see if the reception has started or not, but you'd thrown your phone at the wall in a fit of fury an hour or two prior and you don't have the strength to go and get it.

At seven o'clock, you fall asleep to the quiet noise of the crickets outside and when you wake up, it's dark.

The TV is still on in the living room, except St. Elmo's Fire is on now and you can hear Emilio Estevez say something about being friends forever, to which Andrew McCarthy replies, "Yeah? Well, forever got a lot shorter all of the sudden."

You sit on the couch and look at the clock to see that it's well after midnight. The TV gives off the only light in the room and your eyes sting as it dances on the walls and floorboards.

You don't think about the wedding.

Instead, you think about how empty your new apartment is, and how you hate your new job and only kind of have one friend who really isn't a friend at all. You think about how you had to move to another state just because you were too afraid to look the girl you love in the eye and call her "Mrs. Anderson."

Which, you think bitterly, you'd have to from here on out.

That's when you finally cry.

...

_iv. men who will volunteer to die_

.

_Michael just proposed to Carol! Not even kidding! This is too great. I wish you were here to experience this magical moment. :p_

The message burns into your groggy eyes the next morning when you finally crawl out from under your hangover long enough to check your phone. It's from her, dated sometime last night and you just have so many questions you want to ask.

It's not a good thing, either, because you'd tried so hard to just cut her out of your life and now she's texting you just like nothing happened. She's trying to act like you should be her friend again—like one phone call and her not getting married will take away all your pain.

And you had been doing so well. You were smiling and laughing and joking and everything was okay. You'd almost gotten over the fact that she hadn't even had the decency to tell you that she'd called it off with Roy.

You feel the glass dig into your lungs so you delete the message and call your sister before you do something you'll regret later.

"Hey," she greets halfway through the fourth ring. "What's up?"

You roll over and sigh. "I don't know…I'm just…I have a feeling that today isn't gonna be so great."

"Oh. Is this an 'I-don't-know-why' kinda thing, or a Pam thing?" she asks and you don't regret for a second that you'd told her everything all those months ago.

"She texted me," you say after a moment or two.

"What about?"

You tell her and she sighs. "Did you respond?"

"I deleted it."

"Oh…well, then." She sounds shocked. "Good for you." She pauses before saying, "Are you gonna be okay?"

You shrug, despite the fact that she can't see you. "I don't know, Larisa."

"Well, I love you, big bro." You say it back and then she says, "I can be at your apartment in two and a half hours, need be."

You laugh because you can practically see her checking the estimated time on MapQuest. "No, I'll be okay. I just…needed to talk to someone, I guess."

"I get that." She pauses again. "Hey, I gotta go. Jared and I are going to brunch. Call me tonight, okay?"

"Yeah, I will. Go have fun with your little boyfriend." You manage an actual smile as you say this.

"Alright. Bye, Jim."

"Bye, Larisa."

You don't cry that day and you don't lie in bed, either. You get up and you unpack a little bit more.

You fall asleep halfway The Rope later that night after managing to convince yourself that the worst is probably over. You dream about a noose and a silent death anyway.

...

_v. and that thing nobody can teach you_

.

When you pack up your desk for the second time in one year, a little more of you disappears. Andy is somewhere else kicking over chairs, but Karen is behind you, typing quickly on the keyboard she won't have for very much longer.

You're aren't sure what to do and you aren't sure how to know what to do.

Karen seems just as conflicted.

Scranton is the last place you died, even if your skin's gotten a bit tougher since then. And, sure, Larisa is there and so is Mark, and your parents are close by, but _Pam _is there, too, and that's the most important part, you think.

You miss her, too, but you'd never say it in exactly those words. You miss her so much that your heart feels like it's boiling at the thought of seeing her again, of watching your reflection in her eyes as she laughs and smiles and jokes with you. She's single now, you know, and so are you. Who knows? Maybe…

No.

You shake your head. You'll go back because it's a promotion and you miss your family and friends, but you're not going back for her. You refuse to let this be about her.

And, you do go back. You pack up your things and you drive back to Scranton. You settle into a new apartment and make plans to get drinks with Mark. You ask Karen out because she'd spent the last week in Stamford blushing at you and she'd decided to come to Scranton, too.

You don't let it be about Pam.

It's a good thing and it's a bad thing, really. It's good because you're braver than you were before—brave enough to move back here after _everything. _It's bad because you're a pathetic liar.

...

_vi. there is no possibility of real peace_

.

Scranton has not changed in the slightest, the only difference being the people from Stamford, your return, and the absence of a ring on Pam's left ring finger.

You grit your teeth and prepare for battle.

...

_vii. but if it had to perish twice_

.

Pam gets back together with Roy and it kills you in every way that matters. You leave the room to get coffee when he comes up to flirt with her and you start taking Karen out to lunch every day simply because you can't stand watching them laughing and smiling like nothing's changed. You're practically standing in the same place you were a year ago.

For the most part, you and Karen are still fine, even if she's still angry about everything surrounding Pam. She has no right to be, you think bitterly when she glares at Pam from across the room, even though you know you're wrong. But Pam is with Roy again and you're Karen's now, so there's nothing to be worried about.

Except that there is.

Karen forgives you slowly, unsurely, and you almost tell her not to. You almost say that you'll only end up hurting her because you only love one person and you can't change that no matter what.

Instead, you ask if she'd like to go get dinner.

While you sit across from her and wait for the appetizer to arrive, you decide that you're the worst kind of person that exists.

...

_viii. without expecting anything in return_

.

You go to her art show against your better judgment. It's 8:25 by the time you enter the building, and you know you're cutting it close because the exhibits are supposed to close at 8:30. You'd spent the entire night fighting with yourself about whether or not to come, though, and you're still not sure which side you wanted to win.

There aren't a lot of people there when you come in—probably because it's about to close, but there are only a handful of artists being showcased, though, so you think it might have been this way all night.

You pass by self-portraits and water-colored cats and even, to your horror, a pencil sketch of an old woman with no teeth, before you spot Pam. She's standing by the wall that's holding her art and her side ponytail almost makes you stride across the room and take her in your arms, but you manage to reign yourself in.

As you watch, she shifts her weight between her feet, looking disappointed when she checks her watch for the time. You imagine yourself walking over, her face lighting up when she sees you, and laughing as you offer to buy all of them. She'd be happy and she'd hug you. "I'm so glad you made it," she'd say and she wouldn't let go of your hand.

But then Michael is there and he's hugging her and you're not really sure how he got by you without you noticing. Your moment is gone, you know, and, at 8:29, you leave the building and get back in your car.

Michael, it turns out, actually does buy one of her pieces, which you don't find the least bit endearing.

...

_ix.__I lift my lids and all is born again_

.

You break up with Karen while you're still in New York because Pam says, "Well, I wish you would," and she doesn't seem the least bit surprised.

When she asks if it's because of Pam, you tell her the truth because she deserves it.

Her calm attitude about the whole thing doesn't last for long, though, and she yells at you in the kitchen once you get back to the office. You don't have the heart to fight back because you know she'll end up leaving either way and you really have no ground to stand on.

When she leaves in a huff, you're quick to locate Pam because part of you is worried that it's too late—that it's _always _been too late and that it always will be if you don't hurry.

There's one moment of hesitation, one second where every bad scenario that could possibly play out races through your mind, but then you're saying, "Are you free for dinner tonight?" because you're tired of beating around the bush and she's saying yes and everything bursts into color around you.

You say, "Alright, then…It's a date," and you hurry out before she can change her mind.

You go to the stairway and pace for a few seconds before a grin breaks its way onto your face.

Because you got there—finally, _finally_—got there. It had taken a while, but you made it. You actually did.

The glass is completely gone from your lungs now, which you thank the stars for. You sit down on the floor and fight the urge to pinch yourself to see if you're actually awake.

It isn't perfect because you broke a good woman's heart when your own isn't even completely healed yet, and you're so nervous about dinner that you think you may pass out, but it's close enough that it doesn't matter anyway.

...

_x. tomorrow is another day and I believe in miracles_

.

You take her to a Thai place because you know how much she loves it and she thanks you when you open the door for her and hold her chair out for her.

There's a moment after you order when you're so afraid that you're going to screw up that you know she can tell. She smiles at you and leans her ankles against yours under the table and says, "So, I think we should start over."

You frown at her. "What do you mean?" you ask, because this doesn't sound like a good thing.

She shrugs. "Everything between us just got so…screwed up and, sometimes it feels like, maybe, we're…keeping score. You know—who hurt who the worst or the most recently." You nod. She's not wrong. "I just think we should…start fresh, you know."

You smile and say, "Okay," because you really want to kiss her right now.

"Good." She grins and then reaches her hand across the table to offer it to you. "Why, hello there. I'm Pam."

You laugh at her choice of words, but take shake her hand anyway. It's small and yours covers it almost entirely. "Nice to meet you," you say. "I'm Jim."

...

_fin_

….

_citations;_

_title—E.E. Cummings_

_i. Judy Garland_

_ii. E.E. Cummings_

_iii. Walt Whitman_

_iv. Julius Caeser_

_v. El Cordobes_

_vi. Dalai Lama_

_vii. Robert Frost_

_viii. Madonna_

_ix. A.A. Milne_

_x. Audrey Hepburn_


End file.
